he’s concerned about his own ass. Or maybe because he read the blast and dollar signs shot out of his ass faster than a two-dollar taco.
Letting out a breath, I open the door, wincing at the obnoxiously loud jingle. Walking into the muted yellow office feels strange and familiar at the same time. It’s like visiting your childhood home and seeing a new family playing in the front yard. A part of you belongs to it, but it no longer belongs to you.
That’s some deep shit I don’t care to delve into with a hangover.
“Dominic, what a surprise.” Sofia’s red lips curve in a forced smile as she stares up at me over her computer.
I’d roll my eyes, but it’d aggravate my headache, and this bitch isn’t worth the ibuprofen. “Where is he?” I ask. Forget it. I’m fresh out of fucks to give, so I don’t wait for an invitation. I’m around her desk and headed down the long hallway toward the office at the end. The one with the permanently closed door. To enter requires an invitation, and to exit, well, sometimes that depends on the mood of the man sitting behind the desk.
“Asshole!” Sofia yells at my back.
I flip my middle finger over my shoulder and keep walking.
By the time I get to his door, my irritation morphs into something darker and it boils over as I walk in without knocking.
A cardinal sin in his world.
In an instant, the pungent, peppery smell of cigar smoke hits me. For some odd reason, Angel’s voice comes barreling back. “California smoking ordinance states you have to be twenty feet away from a building to light up, champ.”
True. But ordinances are laws.
And laws don’t apply to Luciano Ricci.
Hearing the unmistakable clicks, I slide my gaze from his left to his right where I’m staring down the barrels of two guns. I’m not surprised—annoyed, but not surprised.
“If you wanted to shoot me, Luciano, you could’ve at least done it out there and saved me from having to deal with Sofia.”
“Ay!” Carlo pipes up, his eyebrows pinched together. “That’s my daughter you’re talking about!”
Luciano raises his hand, unfazed at Carlo’s outburst. “Leave us.”
No one questions him. Both men lower their guns, glaring at me as they walk out the door. Once we’re alone, Luciano regards me quietly. I assume he’s assessing if I barged into his office armed.
Of course, I did.
You don’t run with wolves and then walk into the forest without a flashlight.
He leans forward, tucking the cigar in between his teeth as he rests his elbows on the desk. “Entering a room without knocking first is disrespectful.”
Even through the puff of smoke I see his confident smirk. The man has a forbidding presence that dominates a room. From his swept-back silver hair to his gray double-breasted Italian suit, to his silk tie, Luciano Ricci commands attention. Unlike most, he enjoys the spotlight, choosing not to conceal himself from the public eye, but rather embrace his celebrity gangster persona. A choice that the boss of the Vitoli family doesn’t necessarily agree with.
Not that it matters. Luciano has had as many trials as hair plugs, but the FBI never manages to make anything stick. The media will tell you it’s because of insufficient evidence.
Bullshit.
It’s because he pays off the FBI, fucks their sisters, and eats dinner at their mothers’ houses on Sundays. And once upon a time, I sat next to him at the table.
Holding his stare, I cross the office. His fingers scissor around that damn cigar, but he doesn’t say a word until I sink into the leather chair in front of his desk and rap my knuckles on it three times. “There, I knocked. Happy?”
He barely blinks. “Boy, do you have a death wish?”
I shrug. “Maybe I do.”
Luciano smiles. It’s not pleasant. It’s because he gets off on the chase more than the kill. A demented hunter who prefers to play with his food before he devours it. He may have me in his crosshairs, but I’ll be damned if I’ll dance around while he pulls the trigger.
“I told you seventeen years ago, you keep fucking with the wrong people and someday you’ll get your wish.”
“Let me guess, today’s the day.”
His smile fades. “It’s coming sooner than you think if you keep pulling shit like you did last night.”
“What does it matter to you, Luciano?”
“You know damn well why it matters to me!” he roars, slamming his fist onto the desk. “Don’t push me, Dominic. I love you like a